


there are ways to die that are not physical

by ikuzonos



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Missing Scene, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, there are very heavy implications of the following, this was difficult to rate because while nothing is explicitly shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikuzonos/pseuds/ikuzonos
Summary: In the trunk of a car driving through the hinterlands, Violet realizes that she cannot close her eyes.





	there are ways to die that are not physical

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely none of the present characters were meant to have any kind of romantic relationship, and if you are looking to read something in that vein, I highly request that you die instead.

Two years ago, if you were to ask Violet Baudelaire what she would be doing at age fourteen, she would have said something along the lines of inventing a toaster that could flip eggs for you at the same time as browning your bread, or modifying certain brands of radiators to clean polluted air, or something equally as intelligent, and would never so much as thought that she would be hiding inside the trunk of a car belonging to a man who was attempting to steal her family’s fortune.

Unfortunately, Violet was indeed doing what she never would have even thought of, thanks to a series of miserable - a word here which means: increasingly chaotic and depressing, as well as filled with surprising amounts of moral dilemna - circumstances that had followed her and her two younger siblings for the past several months.

But while the Baudelaires could never hope to pretend their circumstances away, you, dear reader, are more than welcome to. Perhaps you’d like to envision a universe where Violet is about to give her Nobel Prize acceptance speech for solving air pollution, and Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire are in the crowd, cheering for her, while their parents wrap their arms around their shoulders.

However, if you have read this far into the story, you would know that the Baudelaire parents are deceased, and that Klaus and Sunny were not in a crowd celebrating Violet’s achievements, but instead trapped in the same compact - a word which here means: smelling vaguely of alcohol, cheap perfume, and mustard - trunk of a beat up car as their sister.

At some point during the journey, Sunny had miraculously fallen asleep, despite the constant shaking and bumping of the car. One might wonder if the driver was performing such reckless actions on purpose, as though he was aware of the orphans stowing away deep inside.

The siblings who remained awake were mostly silent, staring out of the bullet holes in the lid to look at the moon. The small slivers of moonlight were welcome, as they proved there was air flowing in and out, however minimal. Unfortunately, they allowed small details to be noticeable in the otherwise suffocating darkness.

“Violet?” Klaus broke the tension. Violet did not answer at first. He tried again, a tiny bit louder, “Violet? Are you there?”

Violet flinched, “Y-Yes. I’m sorry… I didn’t hear you.”

Not hearing a person speaking to you is often considered rude, because it can paint you as inattentive, lazy, or deliberately bad mannered. However, there are several good reasons to not hear someone speaking to you, due to nearby construction, the honk of a passing car, or being caught up with a terrible experience that had happened to you recently.

“I was caught up with a terrible experience that happened recently,” Violet continued.

Klaus murmured, “We’ve had a lot of those.”

“We have,” Violet agreed, “How’s Sunny?”

Her attempt to deflect the conversation didn’t go unnoticed, but Klaus said, “Still sleeping. It’s good… she needs it.”

Violet nodded and focused back on the moon. The pounding inside her head continued to magnify.

“You look awful,” Klaus said, “Like you’re sick.”

Violet replied, “I’m fine.”

Klaus shook his head, “You’re not. We can still kick out the taillight and get more oxygen circulating in here.”

Violet grit her teeth, “I don’t need that.”

“You’re crying,” Klaus remarked.

It was true, Violet had been crying for quite some time now. However, she hoped that the moonlight would never be angled well enough to show it.

Klaus asked, “Are you thinking about our parents?”

Violet mumbled, “No.” She would curse herself a second later, because Klaus had offered her an out - a term which here means: an opportunity for her to lie about what was actually troubling her, should she not want to talk about it - that she had dodged.

“Mmm… it’s hard to think about them,” Klaus admitted, “About Uncle Monty, maybe?”

While Uncle Monty had been a good man, whom Violet terribly missed, he had not been on her mind either.

“The Quagmires?” Klaus went on, determined to guess. Very softly, he tried, “Isadora?”

Finally, Violet whispered, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you’ and variations thereof are dangerous phrases. Usually, someone who says that phrase is a victim of a terrible tragedy, who worries about how others may perceive them.

There are exceptions, as there are to all rules. Someone who is cunning or manipulative may use this phrase to play with your emotions, such as a student telling a teacher that they handed in their assignment, and the teacher must have lost it, when it is actually sitting crumpled in the bottom of their backpack, unfinished, or a teacher telling a student that they never handed in an assignment, when it is actually sitting crumpled in the bottom of the teacher’s briefcase, unmarked.

But in the case of Violet Baudelaire, she was holding a sickly, bitter truth deep in her heart, and Klaus was certain of this.

“Of course I’ll believe you,” Klaus said, finding her hand and squeezing it.

Violet took a deep breath, “Have you ever felt like you were dying? Not wanting to die, but… feeling like you actually were.”

Klaus said, “I’ve read about phenomenons similar to that in psychology textbooks. Why do you ask?”

Violet said, “I told you before that Olaf prepared me for that surgery. That… wasn’t all he did to me.”

“What?!” Klaus exclaimed, sitting up out of shock only to bang his head on the lid of the trunk. The sound echoed, and both sibling’s eyes went wide.

It was muffled, but Olaf’s voice was clearly audible from the front seat, “What was that noise?”

“Must’ve hit a bump, boss,” one of his associates said.

“Or a raccoon,” another added.

“Or a small child!” a third exclaimed eagerly.

Olaf’s ‘Mm’ was much fainter, as though he’d already lost interest.

Violet whispered, “Is your head okay?”

Klaus ignored that question, “What did he do? To you?

“He has very bony hands,” Violet half-answered, “And incredibly dirty skin… all over.”

Klaus went limp, “He…”

Violet choked out, “He stole from me. He… H-He…”

Klaus whispered, “I believe you. And I never thought I’d ever say something like this, but I wish that I’d stabbed him in the operating room.”

Somehow, Violet managed to laugh, “Then you really would be a Baudelaire murderer.”

“No, it wouldn’t count,” Klaus replied, “In fact, I’d be allowed to kill any other person I liked for no cost at all. Not that he’s human.”

Violet said, “Well, you’d have to use that free kill to exonerate us from Jacques’ murder.”

Klaus replied, “I suppose I would.”

The Baudelaires rode in silence for several long minutes, or perhaps it was hours. It was difficult to tell.

Then, Violet said, “I can’t close my eyes. I get this ugly, terrifying feeling throughout my whole body when I do. It… It feels like I’m back in that prep room, w-with…”

She broke off, not because she had lost her train of thought, but because tears had overflowed from her eyes, and she could no longer breathe properly.

Klaus held onto her hand for the rest of the ride.

* * *

When digging through the trunk for disguises, Violet found herself falling back into that ugly, icy numbness as she produced her hair ribbon from the pocket of a pair of Olaf’s pants, as she felt the specks of his grime between her teeth; as though she were dying all over again.


End file.
